


Take Me Home Tonight

by ilcuoreardendo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, New Relationship, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex, Sharing a Bed, Tuxedos, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:03:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1329406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilcuoreardendo/pseuds/ilcuoreardendo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam, Gabriel, a wedding.</p><p> <br/><i>“Drink?” Gabriel asks. He makes a face at Sam’s choice but heads to the bar, returns with a simple rum and coke and a strange, pink monstrosity that looks like it might have escaped from an antacid commercial.  </i> </p><p>
  <i>“What is that?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Creamy sex on the beach,” Gabriel says, and if his voice drops a few octaves on certain words, Sam ignores it in favor of watching the man sip, chase a stray droplet with his tongue. “Wanna try it?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Home Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct follow up to [Nothing More Dangerous](http://archiveofourown.org/works/870452) (which I wrote for Sabriel Week 2013). You'll be lost if you don't read that one (as it shows how our boys met).
> 
> Forgive me the Eddie Money song title (it somehow got stuck in my head while writing this). Any errors are mine alone (even truly egregious ones).

* * *

 

Aside from the butterflies (butterflies, _really_?) dancing in Sam’s stomach as he walked down the aisle with Gabriel for a second time in as many hours....and then a minor mishap involving the ring bearer, an untied shoe lace, and one of the rings clattering into an air conditioning grate, the wedding goes off without a hitch (pun intended).

Jacob and Ian seal the deal with a kiss.

Sam, feeling weird about watching, looks away. He finds a pair of warm, gold eyes. Gabriel blows a kiss in his direction. Heat rushes to Sam’s face and he bites at the smile that’s forming on his mouth.

The reception takes place in the hotel restaurant. Four person tables surround a dance floor and there’s an open bar, lovingly paid for by Ian’s parents, thirstily patronized by the guests.

Gabriel drags him expertly through the milling crowd, to a table where their name tags sit next to one another. (Sam remembers Jacob winking at him during the rehearsal…now he knows why.)

“Drink?” Gabriel asks. He makes a face at Sam’s choice but heads to the bar, returns with a simple rum and coke and a strange, pink monstrosity that looks like it might have escaped from an antacid commercial.  

“What _is_ that?”

“Creamy sex on the beach,” Gabriel says, and if his voice drops a few octaves on certain words, Sam ignores it in favor of watching the man sip, chase a stray droplet with his tongue. “Wanna try it?”

Before Sam can respond, Gabriel slithers close, curves his fingers around the back of Sam’s neck and brings him in for a kiss.

Sam tastes cream and coconut, the sharp tang of peach and beneath it the warmth of Gabriel’s mouth and _fuck_ … _yes_ , Gabriel’s actually kissing him and Sam’s sitting like a lip lock virgin. He makes a muffled noise, moves to regain ground.

“There you go,” Gabriel says against his mouth, tongue darting out to lick the seam of Sam’s lips. “Thought I’d lost you for a minute.”

“I always catch up.”

“Good to know.” Gabriel tilts his head toward the center of the room, where couples are beginning to sway. “Come dance with me.”

Sam does, without even thinking about it. That’s new.

It should look ridiculous, between their height differences and Sam’s long limbs (that he’s not entirely sure about controlling all at once), but Gabriel makes it work with firm, subtle touches along Sam’s back, his hips, his biceps.

When a slow song starts, Sam’s more in his element and happy to take the lead while Gabriel tucks in against him, tells some story that Sam’s not sure isn’t half made up. And it hits him then, how easy this is. He hasn’t felt this comfortable being so close with a relative stranger in years. Not…since Jess.

Surprisingly, the thought of her doesn’t pain him. He just remembers that it was _good_. And he slides his arms more securely around Gabriel, lets the music carry him.

 

Several hours (a handful of dances and more scary pink concoctions than Sam would like to think about) later, Gabriel is perched on a chair in the middle of the throng that’s gathered to catch the bouquet.

Sam half expects the scene to end in bloodshed when two women, Gabriel, and another man dive, simultaneously, for the flowers. But Gabriel drops from the chair, does this half-pirouette between the two women, ducks under the man’s outstretched arm and, with a leap that’s astonishingly graceful for how much alcohol he’s had, snatches the bouquet out of the air.

Amid a chorus of happy, slurred cheers, he sways back to the table with his prize. Straddling Sam’s legs, he leans close, plants a wet, liquor-sweet kiss on Sam’s mouth.

“Take me home with you,” he says.

And maybe it’s the bouquet dangling haphazardly from his fingers, or the lopsided smile, or the gold eyes trying so hard to stay sharp and focused, but Sam can’t find it in himself to say no.

 

Gabriel falls asleep in the car, his head against the window, pillowed on Sam’s tux jacket. He sighs awake when Sam parks and helps him out of the car. He’s coherent enough to shuffle along on his own feet, but his balance is shot. Sam has to catch him more than once. It takes a feat of skill and minor acrobatics to get Gabriel into the apartment. The man may have been short, but he was solid.

In the bedroom, as Sam lowers him to the bed, Gabriel comes to. He locks arms around Sam’s neck, tugs until Sam’s draped over Gabriel’s body.

Gabriel tastes like champagne, sweet fizz and summer light. His tongue steals into Sam’s mouth, strokes cleverly over the tip of Sam’s own tongue and retreats.

Sam doesn’t chase it. “You’re drunk.”

“Not at all.” Gabriel scoffs. “And if you’d stop spinning in circles, you might see that.”

“Just sleep,” Sam says, trying not to laugh.

“Naked?”

Sam reaches into the clean laundry basket at the foot of his bed, offers Gabriel a bundle of cloth. “Shirt and boxers.” It’s a compromise that Gabriel seems more than willing to agree to if the rate his dress shirt, pants, shoes and socks go flying across the room is any indication.

Sam grabs his own night clothes and retreats to the bathroom. When he returns, Gabriel is snuggled into his bed as if he belongs there, snoring softly.

And then, because Sam’s spent his savings on the California King, and he wouldn't force his worst enemy to sleep on the death trap of his ancient sofa (that thing has springs just waiting to pierce a soft, unsuspecting organ), he crawls into bed and passes out before his head hits the pillow.

 

He wakes sometime in the night, to the feeling of lips on his jaw line. He opens his eyes to find Gabriel sharing his pillow. Light from a street lamp slats in through the window, falls across Gabriel's face, makes his eyes gleam gold.

“Plenty sober now,” he says, voice soft, private.

“Sleeping,” Sam mumbles, buying time for his brain to engage.

“Really? There’s a part of you that’s pretty awake. Woke me up, even.” Gabriel’s fingers are warm and flighty as they trail down Sam’s chest, over where his shirt rides up, to rest just above the waist band of his boxers. He slides closer, body lining up with Sam’s, until Sam can feel the hard line of Gabriel’s erection pressing against his own, separated by two layers of thin cotton.

Sam groans as a frisson of heat shoots from the tip of his cock up through the center of his body, makes the hair rise on the back of his neck.

“Think it’s only polite,” Gabriel says as Sam fumbles for words, “that you help me get back to sleep.”

“Sounds fair.” Sam frees himself from his boxers, pushing them just past his hips, then reaches for Gabriel and finds he’s done the same.

There’s something dream like about it, touching in the darkness, the whisper of lips on skin, the feel and taste and smell of someone new. Sam cups his left hand around Gabriel’s head, draws him in for a kiss that’s sleep-clumsy, sweet. Then Gabriel’s cock slides slickly against his own, and Gabriel’s hand wraps around both their erections and strokes in a way that’s more torturous than sweet. 

“ _Fuck_.”

“Next time. For now, this is…this is _good_.” The catch in Gabriel’s breath mirrors Sam’s. And they stay like this, softly touching, moving together in the dark. It seems like forever and not long at all when the heat grows in Sam’s belly, pressure gathers at the base of his spine and he comes, spilling over Gabriel’s fingers. A moment later, Gabriel joins him, gasping out Sam’s name, cock twitching hard, adding to the mess.

It’s sticky and filthy and, Sam thinks, one of the hottest things ever.

Gabriel hums from where he’s burrowed against Sam’s clavicle. “You need clean up?”

“’m fine,” Sam says, eyes already growing heavy, brain clouding with sleep.

“Certainly are.” Gabriel presses a kiss to Sam’s collar bone.

 

The next time Sam wakes, early noon sun streams in through the windows.

Stretching, keeping his eyes half-closed, he idly wonders what Gabriel might like for breakfast…or lunch, even. Rolling over, he opens his eyes, finds he’s alone in bed. The sheets on the other side are cold.

He knows, before his brain even phrases the question, that the apartment is empty. There’s no hum of running water or ring of a flushed toilet, no barely perceptible electric buzz of another person close by.

At the foot of the bed, in a neat little pile, are the t-shirt and boxers Gabriel slept in.

Sam blinks, swipes at his burning eyes. He’s just dehydrated. That churning in his belly, it’s from too much alcohol. 

He swings his legs out of bed. His boxers have dried sticky to his skin and he pulls them off, tosses them into the laundry basket.

Making his way to the bathroom, he thinks of the test he has on Tuesday, the paper he needs to revise, the bills that need to be paid, and the library books that need to be returned. Anything but the sweetness of Gabriel’s mouth, the heat of his hand, the sounds he’d made against Sam’s neck, the warmth of the body that had lulled Sam into sleep.

The bathroom light glares. Sam makes a face at himself in the mirror before moving to the toilet. He lifts the lid, raises his eyes and blinks stupidly at the note that’s carefully folded over the towel rack. The ink is purple, almost too bright for Sam to read, and written in a messy, scrawling hand.

_Sleeping Beauty –_

_I said “next time” and I meant it._

_Had to work an early shift. Really didn’t want to wake you. College kids don’t get enough sleep as it is, let alone law students. (I got a peek at your books while looking for paper.)_

_You’ve got my number, kiddo. I’m off at_ _4:00_ _._

Sam’s not entirely ashamed to admit he stands there, dick in hand, for a long stretch of a moment before he remembers he has to piss.

He’s in and out of the shower within five minutes, suddenly ravenous to start his day. Throwing his supplies (library books and bills) into his backpack, he double checks the new number in his phone and grabs his car keys. Just before he heads out the door, he retrieves Gabriel’s note, folds it, and slips it into his pocket.

 

 


End file.
